


northbound, southbound

by justbreathe80



Series: Trans-Canada Series [2]
Category: Canadian Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, though, they planned ahead, and they have a whole fucking weekend, here in this Edmonton hotel room, and Hugh doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to stretch out each minute. First installment of the trans-Canada series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	northbound, southbound

**Author's Note:**

> brooklinegirl asked for this, god, probably over a week ago now. Well, my dear, in honor of our very first RL meeting (YAY!), I give you porn.
> 
> Thank you to strangecobwebs for her very excellent beta, and for being the best about all things Hugh and Callum. I heart you!

t's a hotel room this time. Callum doesn't even wait until Hugh has kicked the front door shut before he's on him, pressing his body up against Hugh's, kissing him hard and dirty, just the way Hugh likes it. He wants to slow down, take his time, he hasn't even seen Callum in months, but he buries his nose in Callum's neck, runs his fingers along the soft hair at the base of his neck, and that's fucking _it_. There'll be time for slow and sweet later.

He pushes hard back against Callum, almost knocking him off his feet, which makes Callum smile and walk backwards toward the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he goes. Hugh catches up and puts his hand to Callum's chest, feeling his heart beat, then pushes him onto his back on the bed, Callum's fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans open. He takes Callum in, thinking about how he's been wanting to get his hands on that body since fucking _September_. He's thinking about the half-whispered phone calls, his hand on his cock, Callum three thousand goddamn miles away.

Usually, he takes his time, gets Callum ready, works two (or three) slick fingers into Callum's ass, feeling him tight and hot, feeling the stretch, watching Callum writhe around on the sheets in another random hotel room, his cock leaking, all for Hugh. Hugh plays Callum's body like he plays a crowd on those days, those times where they only have a couple of stolen hours in some city where they're both shooting a guest spot on some crappy TV show, or Hugh's on tour and Callum's on a movie.

This time, though, they planned ahead, and they have a whole fucking _weekend_, here in this Edmonton hotel room, and Hugh doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to stretch out each minute. He's reaching down to yank Callum's jeans down around his ankles. He can't even stop long enough to unlace Callum's boots, so he bunches his pants around his ankles and flips him over, pulling him up onto his knees. Callum lets out a soft sigh and gets his hands up underneath him. Hugh’s unbuttoning his own jeans and working down his zipper enough to reach his hand in and pull his cock out, stroking himself and just taking in the sight of Callum, on his hands and knees, his ass bare, just like that.

He reaches into his coat pocket, which he still has on, grabbing the tube of lube that he’d taken out of his nightstand drawer that morning before heading for airport. He sheds his coat and pops open the cap of the tube, squirting some out on his palm, then slicking himself up. He can hear Callum’s moans, getting louder now, and he knows that Callum’s ready, was probably ready yesterday for this. He’s been thinking about being inside Callum since they planned this two weeks ago, when Callum called and asked him to get a few days, meet him in Edmonton, for the weekend.

He presses up behind Callum, dragging his hard, heavy, slick cock along the cleft of Callum’s ass, making him push back and try to figure out how to get Hugh inside of him. Hugh doesn’t give him anything, just stays there, waits, until he hears the words start coming. Yeah.

“Jesus, Dillon, god, just fucking -- _fuck_\-- just fuck me already. Please, god, please. Hugh.”

That’s all he needs, and he grabs his dick and lines it up with Callum’s hole, pushing in steady and slow, letting Callum feel it, get used to it and take it. No fucking foreplay, just this. He pushes, listening to the keening sound coming from Callum, who was still in the beginning, but is pushing back now, getting them into a rhythm. When Hugh feels himself buried all the way inside, his zipper digging into Callum’s ass, he starts rocking, starts moving. He wants Callum to feel this fuck for the rest of the weekend, remember it even when Hugh is holding him and kissing him and being a fucking _boyfriend_, or whatever the hell he is. He’s not sure he cares, not when they’re like this.

Hugh’s got his hands on Callum’s hips now, gripping him tight, feeling his muscles and bones right underneath the skin. He’s pulling Callum back with each thrust, feeling him hot and tight around him. Callum’s moaning and mumbling, and trying to keep himself up on his knees with his shoes still on and the pants around his ankles aren’t letting him get his legs far enough apart to be stable. Hugh tries to hold him, keep him there, fucking him hard and fast now, pounding him. He reaches around to grasp Callum’s cock, which is hard and leaking, just from the fucking. He knows that Callum can almost come, just from having Hugh inside him, come from the inside out, and Hugh knows he wants that, wants to feel Callum’s ass clenching and holding him inside. He strokes Callum hard, a little rough the way he likes it, and Callum pushes back hard, takes him deeper.

Hugh slaps the side of Callum’s hip, hard enough to sting a bit. “Come on, you cunt,” he says, roughly. He knows Callum hears what he really wants to say when he says that. What he can’t say, not yet.

Callum gets his knees back up underneath himself, goes up on his hands, and rocks back, hard. Hugh digs the heels of his boots into the carpet to keep on his feet from the force of it, and grabs Callum hard enough, with his hand that isn’t jerking Callum off, to bruise. He’s trying to fuck Callum through the mattress now, slamming in, stroking Callum harder and faster, until Callum’s whole body goes tense, and he comes all over the cheap bedspread and Hugh’s hand, his ass coming around Hugh’s cock. He keeps moving, keeps fucking Callum’s now-pliant body, and feels himself coming from the base of his spine, up and out. He almost whites out with how good it feels, and rides the come out in the tight heat of Callum’s ass, pulsing and coming inside him. He feels like a part of his brain just exploded, and he pulls out, as gently as he can, and collapses on Callum’s back, pushing him face-down on the bed, rubbing his hand in slow circles on Callum’s side to feel how soft his skin is there. It makes him want to confess something, say how hard these months have been without him, but he’s not a fucking girl, and he’s not going to say it. He feels himself drift off as he moves his fingers into Callum’s soft hair.

When he wakes up, he’s on his back, his cock still out, his pants still open. Callum is on his knees on the floor, naked, his own shoes and pants next to Hugh’s shirt. He’s slowly removing Hugh’s boots. Hugh watches him loosen the laces and pull them off, then leans back and sighs. He has to look away, because Callum knows, knows every damn thing about him, has had Hugh figured out from day one on that tour bus. This is so much fucking harder than he thought it'd be, not to slip, not to let it all come rushing out, but he knows it's dangerous, knows he can't say it. So he lies there, not saying a word, waiting for the next hotel room, the next city, the moment when it might be right for once. When he might be able to tell Callum that this isn’t enough, that he wants the days and nights in between so fucking much it’s killing him.


End file.
